Thesmophoria
by DarenDoe
Summary: Kore, a young goddess who is learning that to serve another's happiness is to forfeit your own, sets off to find her own fortune amidst a scene of godlike friends and foes. Without her mother's guidance, she must find for herself the truth within a lie, and who best to trust at the end of a sword. / The retelling of "The Abduction of Persephone", but if Persephone abducted herself


The fertile womb of the earth swells beneath gentle administrations of love and burden. Bundles of herbs, scattered to and fro, stand strong against the onslaught of waves of dancing grass. Copses of fir trees, speckled with pines and white willows, nestle along the twinning stream, just shy of a river. Two mares, speckled and untamed, drink thirstily as frogs hop over the minnow-laden stream. The air carries the thrum of a peaceful life, flush with both the knowing of a great harvest and the promise of rain soon to come.

Children scuttle through the high grasses, weaving between the flowering blades as they hide from and chase one another. Their giggles carry through the field, enticing the horses to move further downstream. One child pushes the other, sending him tumbling into a patch of thick sea dock, all giggles and squeals. The child shakes his head of curls, and pulls himself to his feet. He takes off after the other, smushing the long-stocked flowers further. As the two run downstream, toward the village beyond the stream's bends, the sea docks lays forlorn and torn amongst their brethren.

No longer than a breath's time after the children are lost to sight, one of the two horses raises their head to see curious eyes peering from behind the thick bristles of a fir. The horse watches as one bare foot, then the other, creeps forward from the protecting shadows of the huddle of trees. A woman, cloaked in little less than a toga of woven wheat sewn with blooming vines, crosses the stream to the forgotten flowers. She kneels before the flowers, thick waves of golden and red hair tickling the earth as she traces the stem of the sea docks. She closes her eyes, feeling the vitality of the flowers trickle away. She ponders a moment, caressing a bent stem before fingering the torn purple petals. She wonders if the plant must feel itself growing weak, or if it mourns that it had not shared its pollen in plenty.

But such questions are futile, for she raises her hands above the crushed flowers, fingers flexing together to form triangles. She twines her fingers, breathing in. A hush falls upon even the wind. She pulls her fingers, twisting till all but the last two fingertips graze one another in farewell. She exhales, and the plant reanimates. It straightens as if some liquid, water or magic, perhaps, courses through the broken stems, inflating the crumpled flowers. They stand, new leaves sprouting to maturity where they were once torn. The flowers grow stronger than their surrounding kin, petals grasping for the sun as they tower above the others. The woman raises slightly, leaning back on her heels as she admires her handiwork. The sea docks wave in the wind, as if in thanks. A smile steals across her full lips.

The light clinking of silver bells against taut, tan skin pricks the young woman's ears. She rises, turning toward the horses. An older woman with long tendrils of coiling dark hair weaves her fingers through the darker mare's mane. The horse nuzzles her free hand, happily nibbling the bit of apple in her palm.

"Mother," breathes the maiden. With a hoot and a dance, she trots through the high grass, the blades seemingly reaching for her. She gathers speed, and leaps over the wide stream in a jump too great for a mortal. She lands near her mother, spooking the lighter mare to a fair panic. The young woman dips in a courtesy for her mother before moving to quell the timid beast.

"Daughter," greets the elder, her tone disappointed.

"Yes?" The young woman strokes the snout of the horse, her gaze falling upon her mother in sudden anxiety. The horse, after a moment's hesitation, pushes his head further into the woman's hold. "Please, did I do something to upset you?"

The elder woman shakes her hands free from the mare, and drifts toward the stream's edge. With each step, moss springs forth from the muddied ground, as if in welcome. "Do you think you did something wrong? You know my word well, so what say you?"

The young woman's mind races as she leans further on the untamed mare, fingers stroking the strong legs. "Was it the children? The surely didn't see me." Her lips pucker, and she begins to doubt herself."…And, well, even if they did, they would think nothing of me. They wouldn't – "

"_Nothing?_"

Heat rose to her cheeks. "I mean, mortals so rarely even see us if we are ever to cross paths."

The older woman pauses, glancing over her daughter's appearance. She sucks in a breath. "It was not the proximity to the children which upset me, but rather what happened after." She pauses, and the weight of her words falls upon the daughter in such a way that only a mother's can.

The daughter looks down at her feet as little sprouts twist up in comfort from between her toes. "They were hurt, and dying. I had the ability to help, so I did."

"_Kore_," her mother warns. "We cannot save everything we create. It is made so that it has the experience of living, and it is _not_ our domain to dictate when and how it will die. Everything," her hands sweep the landscape before them, "has a time on this earth, and we merely start the clock ticking. We build, so it may one day fall. We cannot rebuild the shattered, but we can create from those shards. It grows stronger that way, from between the tangles of its befallen brethren.

"We assign each tree, each blossom, even each blade of grass, a purpose." She turns to her daughter, searching her face. She finds no returning gaze. Her lips quirk into a frown. "We, too, have our purpose. For you to spend precious minutes reviving some measly flowers is to forgo the creation of troves and fields of crops and blossoms. It is our duty to be wholly devoted to green the earth, and bring harvest to the mortals. You, more than I, are to bring about buddings, and perfumes, and ivy to curl about the highest towers. We are to bring both life, and that which comforts life. We are _not_ to labor over each single leaf, and to ensure it is in good health. We must also give the freedom of independent survival, the chance to be great."

Still her daughter's eyes evade hers. She steps toward her, hands reaching out to curl around her wrist. Her voice drops to a tender murmur, her thumb stroking her daughter's arm. "Relish in the victory of life, Kore, for you may lose yourself fighting to control death."

Kore nods, the sunlight dancing along the supple curves of her face. Her long, dark eyelashes brush against her round cheeks. "Yes, mama," she coos softly.

The mother searches her face, uncertain if her words struck fully home. She drops her daughter's wrist, and returns to the other mare. Her deft fingers begin to braid the wild mane. After a moment or two of silence, "Would you like to learn to weave a bracelet tonight?"

Kore perks up, and peers from under her horse's head. "A bracelet? Made from what?"

"Wheat, soaked in moonlight and morning dew."

"Won't it fall away?"

Her mother's lips quiver in amusement. "No. I think you find such wheat to be everlasting."

"Are we going to make one for each of the nymphs?"

"Oh? And where are the nymphs who were to accompany you today?"

Kore's ears grow hot, thinking of how she had deftly evaded the nymphs' constant supervision. She scratches the back of her neck, twisting her leg either so way to admire the crawling vine.

"Your silence speaks volumes," her mother scolds. "What am I to do with a disobedient daughter?

Sheepishly, "… Make her a bracelet of wheat?"

Her mother throws her head back, hearty laughter resounding through the field. The trees rustle in amusement. "I suppose, Kore, you are right."

Kore looks up, a smile stealing across her round features. The surrounding vegetation grows wildly, vicariously gleeful. Little vines wrap around Kore's ankles, threading up her calves. Little flowers bud and blossom along the vines as a wreath of flowers seems to sprout from the ends of her very hair. Another crown of flowers, these a deep purple, weave around her mother's head. The mother reaches up fondly, tracing the vines with familiarity. Beneath her touch, wheat braids itself into the crown – her personal touch.

Leaving the mare, her mother grasps her daughter's hand and leads her through the tall grass. They go, leaving a trail of sprouts and seeds in each footprint.

. . .

Beneath the virgin crackle of the fire's gaze, a figure steals from the hearth of the den. Their shadow dances along the wall as they step over groups of sleeping nymphs, leaving a flower or two in their stealthy wake. The den's mouth, wide and sheathed with curtain a thick curtain ivy, leads to a small clearing within dense foliage. The figure, lithe and quiet, steals from the cave, fingertips leaving the rocks in a bittersweet farewell. For a moment, as happens every night she flees the stifling love of her mother, panic swells and cascades over the young woman. However, she knows this to be a symptom of forced codependency. With a balanced breath, she reaches to the earth, and with an exhale, she claws up toward the sky. The stars, twinkling between the dancing leaves of the towering trees, greet her with their cool warmth. She smiles, and, once again, is grounded. Gathering the trail of her loose robes, she sets off into the woods on light feet.

The forest is a mystery at night, and she never tires of its secrets. She helped nurture it, to bring it to fruition, yet it grew independent and holds its own court of fantasies she knows not of. She wishes she could do the same. Nocturnal creatures skitter through the underbrush, tempting her to follow. Each new oddity, new sound, new sight, draws her further and further from her the hidden cave and deeper into the night's freedom. Fireflies take to dancing about her ankles, guiding her ventures. She follows them, trying to catch one after the other. With every failure, her laughter grows until she is a mess of chortles. Just as she misses again, tripping over a root and nearly crashing into a tree, she throws her head back to let out a cackle of a laugh, but the quiet night air is pierced with the sound of hooting and hollering. Her breath stolen from her lungs, she draws closer to the tree, ears perked for any other sound. Again, another hoot crashes through the air, followed by a chorus of gleeful hollering. She strains her ears, just able to hear muffled voices some distance away.

She follows the voices, creeping low and staying sure-footed. She comes upon a small clearing with mossed boulders, a spring whose mouth lies beyond the clearing, and a blazing fire. Figures, slender and scantily clad, wave around the fire, legs lifting in time with the smooth caress of their singing. They sing in an old tongue, older than the gods of the world. Each word, every syllable, rolls off their tongues and entices the heart and loins; if not enough, their eyes, heterochromiatic and enigmatic, gaze upon their audience with haughty devotion – an act of sensual confidence. With a start, the young woman realizes who the audience, whom lounge upon the rocks and grass with glazed looks of lust, are:

"Men!" she breathes, more astonished than fearsome. So rare to see a young boy, let alone grown men. And, for a moment, she can see the reason for her mother's weariness: the simple conversation between body posture between the dancers and the men radiates an erotic energy so deep that it stirs feelings within her she is surprised to call her own.

The song dies to a murmur, and the men clap, some raising to their feet while others form a welcome within their seated posture. The women mill about, touching men here and there, a flirtation within each lingering fingertip. The young woman wonders how one even begins to learn the language of the sensual body, and questions how these people are so fluent. She presses forward, curiosity fueling her. A branch snaps, and a few women snap their attention over. She ducks, cursing herself and the very ichor which runs through her veins.

She peeks through the tall grass, and is relieved that none seem to have remembered her disturbance. Deciding this to be a blessing of the Fates, she turns from the people to return to her repressed cave of virginal maidens with a blush.

"Like what you see?"

A chill runs down her spine. She whips around, clenching the trail of her robes to her naval. "Who – excuse me. I – I – "

"Nevermind the reason," huffs a woman with hair twisted into a low knot. She leans against a tree, starlight gleaming off her bluish skin. Her eyes, a spattering of gold and green, like sunlight dancing on a shallow sea, appraise the young woman. "Who are you?"

"Me? I am, ah, I am Kore. You, are you a nymph?"

The woman throws her head back, sharp teeth glinting. "Me? Oh, heavens no. No, dear child, I am an _oceanide_. I come before your kind, when titans ruled. And don't make that face, girl," she rolls her hips, gesturing towards the young woman. "My sister is Styx, and you can thank her for promises even Zeus cannot break."

Kore draws in on herself more, unsure of her place within titans. "What is your name? And, ah, what is going on with the… the men. Are they mortal?"

"Oh, yes. Very mortal, they are. And understandingly gullible, too." She snorts, reaching to finger a nearby bud. "One does not have to beg for them to believe a coven of ample women find them desirable enough to… tend to them, so to say. As for myself, call me Airlea."

"Airlea, forgive my trespassing. I had not known others to be in this forest."

"A forest this old attracts many old things: gods and titans, curses and men."

"Curses," Kore breathes, feeling the little hairs on the back of her neck prick.

"Oh, yes. And worse than men, too." Airlea chuckles again. "Do not be worried, curses merely follow the meek hearted. And," she casts an eye to the scene flourishing behind them, "we have plenty of those these days." Kore turns to look as well, and turns away with a start. The men and _oceanides_ have drawn close to one another, with firelight dancing across a sea of bare, lifting skin. "Hm, it is probably best you return to your mother, child."

"My mother? You know of her?"

Airlea shakes her head, a grin playing along her sly lips. She takes Kore lightly by the elbow, steering her away from the clearing. "Those among the mortal world know of the renown of Demeter, and of her only child. The world itself celebrates Thesmophoria." When the fires light is nothing but a faint, distant glow, the _oceanide_ draws to a stop. "I also know of the maidenhood you maintain."

Kore's cheeks burn bright, the image of entangled bodies fresh in her mind. She nods.

"Tonight, you saw another side of life, child. A side which _brings_ life. Not so different than your own nature," she purrs with a knowing look. "Perhaps it best to keep things seen a secret, lest your mother bring her wrath upon this fertile land."

"Is that what men really look like?"

Airlea's posed smolder faulters. "Excuse me?"

"Men. I have only seen the faintest glimpse of Hermes once or twice, but I have never seen a man so close. Let alone a human one. Do they really look like that?"

"Hm. Some. The best ones are more a sight to behold, however." Airlea holds Kore within her gaze, her cobalt lips pursed in thought. "Would you like to meet one?"

"Me? One of _them?"_

"Cronus in Tartarus, who do you take me for?! Your mother will have my head on a spike if you meet men of such weak spirit! No, not them. Perhaps some of my brethren. They are not human, but they are far more beautiful. If you come in two day's time to the spring aside the clearing, at the stroke of the moon's highest climb, you may come feast with us."

"What sort of feast will it be?"

The _oceanide_ hollers in laughter, running a hand through her curls. "One of earthen food, nothing more. Lest the food not fill bellies full, then flesh may be entreat us." With a wink, she turns toward the clearing. With a saunter of her hips, she moves through the foliage with grace. "And Kore," she calls over her shoulder. "Do not let others stifle your soul for fear you may hurt them. Egos are not worth lives unlived."

With a toss of her cerulean tresses, Airlea disappears to her carnal feast.

On her return to the cave, Kore is stuck within her thoughts. She saw more within an hour than she had within the last decade. With each step, she falters on her decision to join the midnight feast. If she is to go, surely it a strike against her maidenhood. However, Airlea's words ring true: is her maidenhood her choice, or the pretense of her mother's desires. But if it _is_ merely a feast of food, then it is no different than her frequent night ventures. Either way, for her sake, she wishes the feast to be of merely food. And what of their titan nature? She said her sister to be Styx – but who is Styx? She only had known Styx to be a name to promise upon. A name to wager your truth. But a person so honorable surely must have respectable kin, too. And, aside from the slyness of Airlea's nature, she sees no other reason to be weary of the woman. But perhaps there is something to be weary of, a god within a titan's welcome – a usurper among the dethroned. Perhaps she holds resentment?

Kore nears upon the cave, and settles her breath. She sits before the cave, heart and head towards the stars, while her feet and palms ground her to the fertile earth. She breathes for some time, reminding herself that she exists within the present. And, with a head heavy with sleep, Kore sneaks back into the firelit cave to settle amongst her fellow tenders of the eart

**AN: Hello, and welcome to this story. It's been some time since I've posted a story, and I've been writing this one at all odd hours of the night against better judgement. I am quite excited about this story, and where it will take us all. I always keep a mature content warning for my stories because violence, cursing, and sexual themes occur as naturally as breathing to me. If (when ahem) smut occurs, there will be an explicit label on the chapter/scene if you wish to skip it. To clarify, this will not be a hurt and comfort story, but rather an everything story. But dipped in romance. This is first and foremost a romance between Hades and Persephone, so please enjoy this trip of love and adventure.**


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